Seriously, I knew I was damaged, but not this damaged… alright, all I can do is confess and hope that there is someone to forgive me, somewhere… But do thoughts need to be forgiven? Perhaps not. I haven’t hurt anyone, don’t worry. I am just having these reeeeally disturbing thoughts, right now, thoughts that are quite the opposite of who I used to be.

The worst part of it is, I kind of enjoy these thoughts too, while at the same time I am horrified by them. How we contradict ourselves sometimes, right?

Ok, here goes: As I was contemplating what to write on my dating profile, I looked at the list of members on the site, I think it was in an alphabetical order, so yes, I scrolled down a bit to see if he was online. The thought was of course, to block him right from the get-go, so I wouldn’t have to “run into” him on the site, which could leave me open and vulnerable to the narcissist’s hoover techniques, (which you all know by now is essentially almost deadly to an expartner of a narcissist…)

(And yes, we’re on the same site; unfortunately there’s only one decent dating site and of course he is on it. Anyway, I guess he’s on every dating site there is, from past knowledge about him).

I wasn’t shocked to still find his name on the site. What stung a bit was that next to his name, it said “Last online yesterday“. I know, I know. I shouldn’t expect anything else, when it comes to him. He’sΒ always on the hunt for new prey. Like an insatiable wolf… But somehow, it just felt so sad, like a reminder of just how little I always meant, to him.

Blocked him immediately, of course. All good, right? Uhm, yes, but…

This is where the madwoman comes in!

Now, I always, in the back of my mind, entertained some vague revenge fantasies against the narcissist. Of course, I’ve never gone through with anything. It’s just not who I am.

But now, there was this little devil sat on my shoulder, hissing in my ear: “You see? That bastard, he’s here already, like you never even existed to him. And you didn’t! How does that make you feel? Don’t you feel any need for revenge? ((No? Not even an itsy-bitsy teeny tiny lil’ bit?!)) Don’t you wanna make him feel like he has made you feel? Worthless? Non-existent? Replaceable? Expendable? Not good enough?”.

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In my defense, I did try to push these thoughts away, but didn’t succeed. It was like years of held back rage just boiled in my blood! So I indulged in it, the fantasy of revenge. Oh, how sweet it would be, to see him feel even a fraction of the pain he caused me! To make him feel something, at all!

As I said, I’m not a revenge person, so I didn’t actively plan a revenge. But I had a great fantasy, and embarrassing as it is, I will type it down here, to relieve my soul a bit:

I imagined myself, starting up conversations with lots of different men on the site, going out on dates with them. I imagined meeting someone who caught my interest enough to hang out with for a while. (Not a boyfriend, because… well, I’m still too damaged for that, I do realize that! But, an “almost boyfriend”, to have fun with…). Of course this would be a great distraction from missing mr. DoucheBag Narc. But, Narc would start to wonder: “Hmmm, where’s my toy, that old reliable one?”

Then he would come back. He would suspect I’d started dating someone, so he wouldn’t do his normal, lazy hoover attempts he usually does, these days. No, he would go the whole nine yards, with the love letters, beautiful promises, etc…. He would show up at my door, squeeze out a crocodile tear or two, asking forgiveness…..

BAM!

That’s when, (in my fantasy, still), I look at him with a completely neutral face, smooth as a pond covered in the first layer of ice, in winter. Then I cast a glance over my shoulder, cause there’s a sudden low noise from the living room. The “almost boyfriend”, is there, a shadow, barely visible in the candlelight there. But Narc sees him. Oh, he sees him alright. Like the darkest of shadows within the narcissist, the one he’s run so far and fast from, all these years, but can no longer escape…. And within a second, it dawns on him:

He’s replaceable. Expendable. Worthless. Not good enough.

He desperately searches my face for proof he’s still special to me. That it meant something; the way I waited, cried, waited, forgave the unforgivable, humiliated myself, begged and pleaded for the torture to stop, stayed when all the other women were gone…. He must have meantΒ something to me, surely?! Narc’s face is now turning red with embarrassment, and for once in his life, he doesn’t know what to say.

The pond’s surface is still cool and smooth, though within, I’m on fire! I utter a few words, in the most polite tone, the one you use to a stranger on the bus;

“You will excuse me, I have a friend here, so I can’t really chat. But, you have a good evening”.

The way I say friend, with an ever so slightly different tone of voice, the pond thawing up a bit… The narc hears it. Although he never heard a word I said during four years, he perceives this shift in my voice. The most subtle sound, yet, it rings like a thousand church bells inside his head.

I close the door and catch a last glimpse of his face. It’s not sadness I see, nor love. It isn’t longing or regret. It’s shame and anger and a loss of something; someone that loved him. He doesn’t know what love means, but he knows he had it and lost it. And he hates losing. He never loses. He constructed his whole damn life, not to lose anything, ever! And now this.

I know that he’ll linger a minute or two on the staircase outside my door. I laugh and talk about fun things with “almost boyfriend”, without a care in the world. The weight on my chest from all those years, has dropped. I am so light. I soar. I am…. Β free.

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